The Readers Review: Literature from 1714 to 1910 discussion

A lot happens in this section. Evelina sees a Miss Belmont at a dance, who is said to be the only daughter of Lord Belmont, who is in London. She also discovers that Mr. Macartney is her half-brother. Mrs. Selwyn thinks Evelina should go see her father in town, and Mr. Villars agrees. As Evelina prepares to leave town, Lord Orville declares himself and, after hearing her story, wants to be married immediately. Lord Belmont acknowledges Mr. Macartney but claims Evelina is not his.

How do you think the two men were able to find two elderly women willing to race for them?

Did anyone predict the outcome with Evelina and Lord Orville?

Who do you think sent Evelina the letter under Lord Orville’s name? Why?

Who is Miss Belmont? Does John Belmont truly believe her to be his daughter? Has he been deceived by someone else? Or is he lying? And what will happen to “Miss Belmont” if she turns out not to be John Belmont’s daughter?

So much is revealed in this section! But a few mysteries yet to unravel.

The elderly women upset me greatly, predictably enough. I always read it as a situation in which they had little choice, being ordered to do something by "their betters" and feeling they must. Perhaps their material want was so great that they would do as they were told for a few coins. Yes, Evelina springs to one woman's aid when she falls for a second time, but then she allows herself to be drawn away by the other house guests. The two old women are never presented as people, and they are simply left in the garden in their exhausted and injured state while the "company" returns to the house. (I hope a few of the servants helped them! Though the odds are against it.)

I'm never clear what Burney is getting at with this scene. Yes, she evidently finds the wagers and silly competitions of the gentlemen ridiculous, and perhaps she is drawing in male readers of her time to laugh, only (by the extreme nature of the incident) to make them squirm? If so, she does a better job at that with the incident involving Madame Duval and the fake holding up of the carriage. Here, it seems as if Evelina right along with the rest forgets all about the unfortunate old women as soon as they are out of her sight. And never does Burney give us any indication of what the old women felt about the "race." It must have been both humiliating and terrifying for them!

When readers in Burney's day spoke of the book, that scene was often the first thing they mentioned. So it definitely stood out for them as something notable or scandalous. But I haven't found any real dissection of how it was understood by her contemporaries, or how they framed it.

I thought the scene with the old ladies was ridiculous and I hope the author included it to show how callous and ridiculous the upper classes were-but somehow I doubt it.
Everyone in this book seems to be on the surface, with no depth, and the characters are one-sided as well.
Is Evelina really as clueless as she seems?

Evelina's cluelessness doesn't seem that implausible to me. She was brought up in the country, apparently with a very narrow circle of acquaintance, and access only to a limited world of books, brought up by an elderly man. There's no mention even of a governess, which Mr. Villars probably couldn't afford. In our day, young women are far more exposed to peers (not in the aristocratic sense, of course), television, and social media, so they become much more sophisticated at a much earlier age. Girls who were taught to read in rural Britain were mostly fed collections of sermons and "extracts" designed for moral instruction, and had little access to worldly reality. (Poetry was an acceptable exception.) She had no mother to clue her in to anything, and all knowledge she had was theoretical.

That said, I agree there is very little psychological motivation in this book, but that is pretty much in line with the other fiction of the day. I don't think of Fielding or Richardson as particularly deep or naturalistic! For me she fits into a tradition of standing outside the emotional life and observing the absurdities of social behavior for the amusement of readers (or viewers, in the case of theater).

I was wondering if the race scene was part of Burney's satire, showing a ludicrous scene of the idle rich entertaining themselves, but it's possible I'm giving the author too much credit here.

"How do you think the two men were able to find two elderly women willing to race for them?"

Evelina writes: "They [Merton and Coverley] handed, with loud shouts, the old women to the race ground, and encouraged them, by liberal promises, to exert themselves."

In the 18th century the word 'liberal' almost always means 'generous'; its theological and later political sense didn't develop till the next century. The £100 wager would be worth almost a hundred times as much today. I'm quite certain the scene is indeed satirical - Evelina and Orville are clearly appalled by the spectacle though whether most by the treatment of the unfortunate women, the extravagance of the bettors, or their being obviously drunk as skunks, isn't clear.

I agree the intention was satirical, but I think it was ineffective satire because any offense felt by the characters we are supposed to consider right-thinking did not translate into action. They silently condoned and then walked away, making it seem as if the whole old-lady race was supposed to be seen as silly rather than cruel.

I agree that the older women were probably found in a poor house. At first I thought there may be some humor to be found in the situation. I was honestly picturing my mother, mother-in-law, and a particularly spritely older friend power walking good naturedly across our yard as my husband and I cheered them on. My MIL always had a very youthful outlook and would have gotten a hoot out of that. Of course after the false hold up scene, I should have known that the humor would be at the expense of the victims. Speaking of which, is there any example of real, good natured humor in this novel? Or is humor always seen as mean spirited? What was the 18th century, upper class view of humor?

Who is this Miss Beaumont imposter? I blame too much soap opera watching in my youth but for a few minutes I entertained the idea that they were twins separated at birth! I’ve dismissed that option but I can’t imagine Evelina will submit to any situation where the false heiress will be left ruined and alone- even at the expense of her own birthright.

Good points, everyone! Now I'm trying to think of an example of humor that wasn't mean-spirited. Even Mrs. Selwyn's humor comes at the expense of some other characters, but it's true she usually ridicules unsympathetic characters so we like her. At least I do, but I still can't think of any humor in the book that didn't come at someone else's expense.

We can see why the Victorians regarded the 18th century as a very coarse period.

As to your question in post #1 about the letter, it seems clear that Sir Clement wrote it. He was in a position to intercept the servant carrying Evelina's letter, and the response sounds like him. He betrayed some knowledge of the letter's nature when he seized it from Evelina, and probably destroyed it in order to avoid being discovered. In his letter (if we assume it was his), he tried to set up a system whereby he would have intercepted any further letters Evelina wrote, had she been willing to continue a correspondence. He seems to have difficulty believing in her innocence!

I wa getting very tired of Evelina’s ineffective attempts to get out of awkward situations, and of Lord Orville phrasing everything in the 3rd person!

Robin wrote: "I wa getting very tired of Evelina’s ineffective attempts to get out of awkward situations, and of Lord Orville phrasing everything in the 3rd person!"

Yes, and also with how many words are used to say almost absolutely nothing. Have Evelina and Orville talked about anything that would account for them falling in love?

As an aside, with Evelina away at Bristol and Clinton and Ayala at Stahlam, I confused myself at times with which story I was in when switching between this book and Ayala's Angel on my Kindle. While Evelina and Ayala are distinctive characters, I got a bit confused with the side character scenes. I may finish this story before I return to Ayala's story to ease my easily-befuddled brain

Brian, I finished Evelina before I started Ayala's Angel so that wouldn't happen!

If I'm not mistaken, Evelina was Burney's first novel, and it shows. There are some sections that are a pleasure to read, interspersed with her painful attempts at humour and slapstick.
It is hard for me to see the connection between the letters of a girl brought up in a sheltered way and the practical jokes of the Captain and the aristocrats.
Those episodes just get in the way of the plot.

Rosemarie wrote: "Brian, I finished Evelina before I started Ayala's Angel so that wouldn't happen!.."

Smarter than me as usual :)

Interesting observations, Rosemary! I want to comment on what you say but feel I should wait till we get into the final thread. Next week!

Thanks. I am making just general observations since I don't want to give anything away.

Brian wrote: "Robin wrote: "I wa getting very tired of Evelina’s ineffective attempts to get out of awkward situations, and of Lord Orville phrasing everything in the 3rd person!"

Yes, and also with how many wo..."

We are now at the opposite end of the spectrum where young people can connect with just a swipe or 2 lines of conversation in a bar. Somewhere in between seems preferable. Of course only the well-off had the leisure to speak that way. I sometimes wonder if historical novelists make the dialogue wordy because it is based on letters and journals, which were more formal. But Burney was writing about her own time, so I guess some people talked like that. Jane Austen mostly isn't like that, and when she is, it is often for comic effect, like Mr. Collins.

I was also wondering how realistic the dialog was for the times (especially in the final section that we'll get to next week). Was that how they actually would have spoke, or is Evelina "cleaning up" the language when writing her letters (the way we would write an email differently from how we'd say the same message in person), or is it just a Burney (and similar authors) thing?

Rosemarie wrote: "Thanks. I am making just general observations since I don't want to give anything away."

Actually, that's why I decided to read the two books at the same time rather than as you did. My inability to restrict my observations to the respective chapters being discussed trumps my inability to differentiate the two stories. The moderators seem to be able to artfully accomplish reading ahead but I find it difficult.

If we look at the way Captain Mirvan, Madame Duval, and the Branghtons speak, we can see that not everyone speaks the same way even in the story, setting aside for the moment the real world. So it seems as if Burney is trying to capture different speech styles of people with different levels of education and social polish. The more cultivated the character, the more elaborate the syntax.

We can't be certain how people spoke in the real world, but I have read a lot of the transcriptions of debates in the parliamentary record, and it does seem that well-educated members of society spoke in more compound and complex sentences than we do today. Not all of those were scripted speeches, but to a modern ear they read like carefully composed essays. So there was among the gentry a greater sophistication of everyday speech than we expect nowadays. That said, there has long been a distinction between written and spoken English, so (especially when it comes to Mr. Villars and Lord Orville) there may be some authorial enhancement involved.

BTW, Rosemary, I didn't intend any criticism of what you wrote, I just meant that any comment I would make on it would draw in information from the last part of the book so I wanted to wait to engage in that discussion! I thought you were very careful in your remarks but couldn't see my way clear to being equally so, because my intended answer involved the final scenes.

Abigail, I took it that way, since we both know what is to come.

Thanks, Abigail! That's very useful to know.

Brian, I often read ahead and can only confine my observations to a certain week's reading if I take good notes. Sometimes, especially if I want to read far ahead for whatever reason, I basically type up my whole response in a Word document (a running document called "book notes") and then copy/paste when the time comes. If I forget to take good notes, I'm often stuck being unable to comment that week. I do, however, find the weekly conversations more enjoyable when I haven't read ahead yet, or haven't read much ahead (as is the case with the current Trollope read), so I'll probably try not to read ahead too much in the future.

I'm having the same problem as Brian, in that I'm reading the 2 books simultaneously-I think I will finish Evelina next and then carry on with AA.

I was surprised that Burney dealt with the romance/engagement first, and will settle the paternity question in the last section. Most novelists save the most important denouement of a novel until the end, so i wonder if this reflects Burney's belief that the parentage question was more important than the marriage one?

I am also intrigued by the false Miss Belmont-I suspect a nurse fobbed her off on Belmont as a way to get her child a better life, but it would be terrible if she was disowned after having been raised as a noblewoman.

Also, how can Lord Orville's sister be so dull and arrogant?

Again I’m reminded of the influence of theatre on the early novel. Usually the serious characters speak in an elevated style than the comedy gang and that’s certainly true here as well.

Frances wrote: "I'm having the same problem as Brian, in that I'm reading the 2 books simultaneously-I think I will finish Evelina next and then carry on with AA.

I was surprised that Burney dealt with the romanc..."

I had that problem when we were reading a Trollope and a Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Both books had a hero who had an earlier attachment to a devious woman. I was getting them totally mixed up and ended up dropping Trollope. In the rest of my reading, I try to read different genres/styles when I have multiple books going, but sometimes there end up being unexpected similarities in plot, setting or character.

Frances wrote: "I I was surprised that Burney dealt with the romance/engagement first, and will settle the paternity question in the last section.."

I had the same first thought, but my next thought was that Burney decided to resolve things in this order to show that the parentage issue meant nothing to Lord Orville.

Brian wrote: but my next thought was that Burney decided to resolve things in this order to show that the parentage issue meant nothing to Lord Orville.

Lord Orville is certainly paragon of good breeding and disinterested affection, isn't he?

Lord Orville is perfect! Unlike his sister.

His sister reminded me of the spoiled, petulant, privileged girls I went to school with! Huffing around and drawing their sense of self-worth from the worship of some young man.

Rosemarie wrote: "Lord Orville is perfect! Unlike his sister."

If I were beta reading someone's manuscript, I'd say he was too perfect, and therefore unrealistic...

I'm not sure how much of the "unrealism" of the characters in this book is due to it being a satire and how much is due to it being Burney's first novel.

I have always felt that many novelists, both male and female, write their ideal lover as a main character/love interest in their novels. Women often write too perfect men, and men write too perfect women (making some heteronormative assumptions here, but you can fill in the permutations and variations...). So I will assume that Lord Orville is FB's beau ideal!

I find Orville too possessive/overprotective. I guess he felt it appropriate with her being so young and inexperienced. I also thought he was too quick to judge her, distrust her, be jealous of any other man she talked to, etc. Of course, he's better than any of the alternatives. I'm not clear what he saw in her at first, except her beauty, as she wasn't much of a conversationalist.

He does admit to having thought her stupid on first meeting her (and she was, rather!) but I assume that after a few days in the same home when he was spending a lot of time keeping her company (as no one else would) this would be a make or break time for him to get to know her and decide if he could spend a lifetime with her.

That was society at the time--men were entitled to look women over, using whatever criteria they chose, and judge whether any woman was "worthy" of being wooed. Many, but not all, women had only the power of refusal. Women were legally chattel, so it's not surprising that most men looked on the process as a form of shopping. And since women were legally possessions (owned by their father until bought by their husband, and in this context it's very relevant that Evelina doesn't seem to have a father when she appears in society), men often were possessive about any woman who took their fancy.

I'm not at all convinced that this attitude has been extirpated from even "progressive" western countries today. Surely it lies behind much of the violence against women--that sense of entitlement, of ownership.

At least Lord Orville is observing and evaluating Evelina's character and cultivation, not just her appearance or her money. Given the status of women, that's a not inconsiderable blessing.

“In narratives where historical veracity has no place, I cannot discover why there should not be exhibited the most perfect idea of virtue; of virtue not angelical, nor above probability, for what we cannot credit, we shall never imitate, but the highest and purest that humanity can reach, which, exercised in such trials as the various revolutions of things shall bring upon it, may, by conquering some calamities, and enduring others, teach us what we may hope, and what we can perform. Vice, for vice is necessary to be shewn, should always disgust; nor should the graces of gaiety, or the dignity of courage, be so united with it, as to reconcile it to the mind. Wherever it appears, it should raise hatred by the malignity of its practices, and contempt by the meanness of its stratagems: for while it is supported by either parts or spirit, it will be seldom heartily abhorred. The Roman tyrant was content to be hated, if he was but feared; and there are thousands of the readers of romances willing to be thought wicked, if they may be allowed to be wits. It is therefore to be steadily inculcated, that virtue is the highest proof of understanding, and the only solid basis of greatness; and that vice is the natural consequence of narrow thoughts; that it begins in mistake, and ends in ignominy.”

That was Samuel Johnson’s view of what fiction should accomplish and considering that he was a friend of the Burneys, surely an influence on Evelina. Lord Orville seems to suit that definition of ‘the most perfect idea of virtue’. And the prescription that ‘vice should disgust’ fits characters like Merton and Coverley. As this was written some twenty years before Evelina, Rambler no. 4, I expect Fanny Burney had read it and agreed.

The passage is also an example of the neoclassical periodic prose style.

Great quote, Bill! Or, in the modern parlance, "What he said."

Fanny Burney has certainly found someone unique to create - a British Lord - ‘the most perfect idea of virtue.’ Actually I think he has committed some faults in propriety in declaring himself? Considering Evelina’s age shouldn’t he have asked permission to declare himself before saying anything. I don’t think he has been to see Mr. Villars otherwise his letter warning Evelina about Lord Orville would not have arrived.
In fact, after the grotesque ‘satire‘ of the two old ladies racing (which, if they are pure and virtuous both Evelina and Orville should have refused to attend - their sheer presence is tacit approval- ) an even greater satire is Lord Orville marrying Evelina. Doesn’t he realise he has his blood line to think about? He may not behave like Byron but his family will think he is mad. If the rest of his family is anything like his sister, poor Evelina will have a terrible existence during the 90% of the time when Orville is away doing his gentlemanly things and she is at home with the in-laws.
Actually after page upon page of constant gushing about Lord Orville from Evelina, I am now hoping that the next time she gets chased straight into the arms of Sir Clement Willoughby she actually elopes with him. Now that would be an interesting twist to spice up the plot but might detract from the author’s message.

I was also wondering why he hadn't at least written to Mr. Villars yet.

I kind of had the idea that Lord Orville's parents were dead, so maybe he comes from a small family and can afford to please himself in his marriage.

That would definitely be an interesting ending, though I suppose it would kill Burney's "virtuous" mission in telling the story!

And thanks, Bill, for that quote. I guess back then novels were still expected to have a purpose besides entertainment.

By the late 18th century there were two accepted forms of proposing marriage. The older form was for the gentleman first to ask the lady’s father for his consent to seek the daughter’s hand. The newer practice was to ask the lady first and if successful then go to the father to seek his approbation. If I remember correctly, all the proposals in Jane Austen’s novels follow the newer form. In Persuasion Anne Elliott allowed her father and aunt to veto the match with Wentworth, much to her regret.

I don't think Lord Orville knows of the existence of Mr. Villars, and even if he did, it's unclear to both Evelina and Mrs. Selwyn whether Villars would be the correct person to apply to for Evelina's hand, or Lord Belmont--and of course they can't recommend an application to him so long as he refuses to recognize her as his daughter. This is another of the ways in which Evelina is uniquely vulnerable. Because there has been no parent in evidence throughout his acquaintance with her, Lord Orville probably assumes Evelina is an orphan.

The only reason Mr. Macartney was able to locate Mr. Villars is because he knew Madame Duval. Lord Orville has seen her but not, so far as I can recall, been introduced to her, so he would not know to make inquiries there.

Bill wrote: "By the late 18th century there were two accepted forms of proposing marriage. The older form was for the gentleman first to ask the lady’s father for his consent to seek the daughter’s hand. The ne..."

I think the question depends on the age of the woman. Evelina is definitely too young to give consent so it would be the correct form to ask the father/guardian first. If Evelina had been older then she could have been approached first. Lord Orville’s virtue should have prevented him from disturbing Evelina’s emotions without due reverence to her guardian.

If he knew nothing of Mr. Villars, Lord Orville should have found out what Evelina’s circumstances were before blurting out all his lovelorn remonstrations. I don’t believe that Evelina has never mentioned Mr. Villars to him during all their prolonged tête-a-têtes in the preceding weeks. In her letters we don’t get every word she says to Lord Orville, although the words we do get tend to be repetitively obsequious.

I can’t recall anywhere in 18th century literature where a minimum age for a young lady’s accepting a proposal was stated, though in cases where she didn’t control her own fortune (like Anne Elliott in Persuasion) the family could prevent the match). Once ‘out’ and allowed to attend balls, she was regarded as eligible to engage in courtship, indeed that was the whole point of going. And of course a handsome wealthy aristocrat like Orville would be every family’s ideal for a son-in-law.

I wonder if Lord Orville's quickness to declare himself had something to do with Evelina avoiding him. Maybe he thought she was afraid of him because of how much attention he'd been paying her, and he wanted to assure her, before she left town, that his intentions were honorable (he might have also gotten carried away).

Trev wrote: "an even greater satire is Lord Orville marrying Evelina. Doesn’t he realise he has his blood line to think about?..."

I hadn’t thought of it as satire, but I, too, was surprised that Evelina’s questionable status was not more of an issue for Lord Orville. He clearly believes Evelina’s version of events but if Lord Belmont refuses to acknowledge her, wouldn’t Evelina legally be considered a bastard? Would his marriage of her be enough to repair her reputation in the eyes of society?

I’m more familiar with the strict Victorian values in later novels so am not certain on flexibility here. Also, I was taking a ‘wait and see’ approach since all this is neatly resolved if Evelina is acknowledged as Belmont’s heiress. Personally I found it admirable that Orville was willing to flaunt convention in order to ‘make an honest woman’ of Evelina but that is my modern moral relativism speaking. A man was more likely than a woman to get away with a bad marriage but I was fairly certain that even the appearance of impropriety would ruin Evelina permanently.

In a 19th century novel Evelina could not be a legally considered bastard and still hope to have a happy ending regardless of her culpability. Is Burney’s treatment of this issue a sign of the times or would it be considered a radical departure from the norm for Lord Orville to so casually accept Evelina’s story and disregard Belmont’s possible disownment?

Being as bastard in the 18th century was not a bar to social acceptance, especially if you had an aristocrat for a parent. Samuel Johnson's friend Richard Savage claimed to be the son of Earl Rivers and Lady Macclesfield, and even wrote a poem entitled The Bastard making that case. It was regarded as good form for an aristocrat to acknowledge and look after his illegitimate children. Lord Chesterfield's Letters to his Son was a product of that solicitude. In Jane Austen's Emma, Harriet is the offspring of a nobleman, though Emma is clearly mistaken in thinking her too good for a farmer and pushing her on a clergyman who proposes to Emma instead. And of course Tom Jones becomes heir to both Allworthy and Western. And everybody believed that Horace Walpole's real father was Lord Hervey, not Sir Robert Walpole.

Thanks Bill for clearing that up for me!

I find it amusing to compare this novel with Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa. Did any one of you read that novel?

It is also an epistolary novel (written in 1748) and there is much of the same sexual tension that we see in Sir Clement (/Lovelace) and the same beauty, intelligence and innocence in Evelina (/Clarissa). It is also about virtue and male advancements.

Charlotte wrote: "I find it amusing to compare this novel with Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa. Did any one of you read that novel?

It is also an epistolary novel (written in 1748) and there is much of the same sexual..."

‘Clarissa’ is probably the saddest novel I have ever read, along with Elizabeth Gaskell’s ‘Silvia’s Lovers‘. It reveals how danger lurked for vulnerable people of all classes in Georgian times. Lovelace (view spoiler)[ seemed to go to extraordinary lengths to prove his dominance over Clarissa, but both the tension built up by the plot and the final outcomes were hard to take, yet never to be forgotten. (hide spoiler)] Evelina, in comparison, was for me much easier to read due to its light satirical nature but didn’t have any of the same impact as ‘Clarissa.‘

I’d maintain that the greatest 18th-century epistolary novel of sexual intrigue is Choderlos Laclos Les Liaisons dangereuses (1783). Love to read it again with a group.